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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516523">Papercut</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ru17/pseuds/ru17'>ru17</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Confinement, Corporal Punishment, Daddy Kink, Depression, Dissociation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Daddy Kink, Hurt Peter Parker, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overprotective Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Tony Stark, Unhealthy Relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:55:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ru17/pseuds/ru17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony wanted him to feel at home, but he would prioritize the boy’s safety over everything else.</p><p>Everything. Even if Peter hated him for it.</p><p>(In which Tony's obsessively in love with Peter and kidnaps him for his "own good.")</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>591</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Tumblr deleted my account after it was report-bombed by antis, so I’m moving all the writing I had saved to here, starting with Papercut.</p><p>You can follow my new tumblr <a href="https://send-me-your-hcs.tumblr.com/">here.</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“FRIDAY,” Tony asked as stepped into his private elevator, “what is my boy up to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter is currently in the living room, Boss. He’s folding a paper crane from the origami kit you gave him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony hummed. Peter had grown so bored, this last month or so. In the short time he’d been given free rein of the penthouse, he’d already worked his way through Tony’s bookshelf and his DVD collection, and now needed some new forms of entertainment, clearly. Tony came home a few weeks ago and found the boy tearing up his notebook to fold paper airplanes in his boredom, which was what sparked his idea to invest in some arts and crafts supplies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Internet was still off-limits. It probably always would be. He tried letting Peter have Netflix, for a while, but then FRIDAY alerted him that the kid had managed to unplug the internet connection from the TV (he used Tony’s corkscrew to drill a hole in the wall - he was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>resourceful,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tony’s little boy) and was trying to wire it to the makeshift tablet he had fashioned from spare gadgetry he pilfered from around the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying to send messages was a big no-no. So FRIDAY got a nice, shiny new upgrade and Peter’s internet privileges had been completely abolished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Origami was cute. It suited the boy - he liked working with his hands. Tony got him other things, too, like puzzles and models and art supplies. He was planning to encourage Peter to use them to decorate his room - it was still so bare, even though he’d lived with him for a year, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>would’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> let Peter paint it, but...no. Even with Tony’s superior forced-air system, paint fumes could be harmful. He didn’t want his boy to get a headache, or feel queasy from working too closely with chemicals for that long. Plus, he’d need a ladder to reach the top of his walls with how high his ceiling was, and that was far too dangerous. The boy could fall. Tony wanted him to feel at home, but he would prioritize the boy’s safety over everything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Even if Peter hated him for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy was a vision when Tony stepped through the elevator doors. Light streamed through the large windows and fell across Peter’s chocolatey curls, making him look even more ethereal than he already did in Tony’s eyes. He couldn’t help but stare at the pale nape of the boy’s neck as he sat on the floor, still blissfully unaware of Tony’s presence, just folding paper. Folding. Folding. Folding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>FRIDAY definitely still needed some work. There was a big difference between “folding a paper crane,” and “folding his hundredth paper crane whilst sitting in a sea of paper cranes as far as the eye could see.” The little birds ranged in different sizes and colors, all beautiful, meticulous - Peter clearly had perfected the fold by now. The origami paper Tony bought him was elegant and beautiful, and the cranes Peter had folded with it were even more so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But still. This was excessive, and Tony needed to guide his boy away from obsession before it started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey, I’m home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s shoulders tightened. That was better. Much better. He was still flinching when Tony entered the room only six weeks ago. He was getting better every day. “Having fun in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter turned over his shoulder to gaze at him. “Um, hi,” he said quietly, only meeting Tony’s eyes for the briefest moment. “I’m sorry, I thought - I thought you’d be home later. I was going to clean up before...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care about the mess,” Tony said. It was true - messes could be dealt with. Peter’s fragile mental state was much more pressing. “It’s you I’m worried about. I didn’t even know I had bought you this much paper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shy, wary smile graced the boy’s face. He was so beautiful. Tony’s heart brimmed with love. “A thousand is...a lot more than I expected. I’m not...it’s not done yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why a thousand, baby?</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tony prodded. “You mean to tell me you’re not just aimlessly folding the same bird over and over for no reason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s face fell. He only got that look on his face when he was overthinking things, remembering things he shouldn’t. Things that would only make things harder for him. Tony tried to tell him, but he knew this was a lesson the boy needed to learn on his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It said it in the book,” he said quietly, nearly a mumble. He gestured to the little square book that had come with the origami kit. “It’s an old Japanese folktale. They used to believe that if someone folded a thousand origami cranes, their...their wish would come true.” Peter cast him a nervous glance, then went back to the half-folded crane in his hands. “Now, they, um, they do it during challenging times. It’s called </span>
  <em>
    <span>senbazuru. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s like a...a symbol of hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s beautiful,” Tony said. A look of relief washed over Peter’s face. His posture relaxed, just slightly. Tony smiled at him as he strode forward. “I’m glad you’re having fun, sweet--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped, his eyes widening. Peter glanced up at him, but Tony wasn’t looking at the boy’s face. He was looking at his </span>
  <em>
    <span>hands,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his beautiful, soft, slim little hands, his fingertips red and swollen, his skin mottled with crisscrossing papercuts that were all shiny with wet blood. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Peter.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s wide-eyed gaze quickly pinballed between his cranes and Tony’s stern, angry face. “Wh-what? I don’t -” He whimpered as Tony snatched him by the wrist and carefully pulled him to his feet, scattering his paper birds everywhere. “Why - why are you - what did I do, why are you mad?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at what you’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> to yourself,” Tony hissed. He held the boy by his wrists and brought his injured hands right in front of his face. “Look at this, Peter, look how careless you’ve been. And you wonder why you had to come live with me. You can’t even handle doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>crafts</span>
  </em>
  <span> on your own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry - ” Tears were already running down the kid’s cheeks. His poor boy was so fragile. So delicate. He couldn’t handle it when Tony got mad at him. How could he possibly think he could survive in the outside world? He </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone to take care of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony just needed to show him that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to clean up these hands,” he said a little more gently, “and then I think it’s time to say goodbye to the origami kit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic soaked into the boy’s pretty features. He looked almost wild as he tried to tug his wrists free from Tony’s grasp and said, “But - but that’s not - they’re just </span>
  <em>
    <span>papercuts, </span>
  </em>
  <span>they don’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m sorry I didn’t notice, I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful - ” He broke into a loud, chest-rattling sob as Tony kept his stern expression on his face. “Please, please don’t take it away. Don’t take it. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>helps.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll try something different, baby,” Tony said to the crying boy as he let go of his wrists, carding his hands through Peter’s soft curls and massaging his scalp. He stroked his wet cheeks and kissed his forehead, knowing that it was for the best. “Something safer. This is just a little too much for you, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>paper,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Peter argued, his voice breaking as he failed to keep the sobs at bay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you still managed to hurt yourself. You would’ve just kept going and done more damage if I hadn’t stopped you. You can’t even handle </span>
  <em>
    <span>this,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter. My silly helpless boy. You need me. You need Daddy to take care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led the boy to the bathroom and sat him down on the toilet seat as he rummaged through the first aid kit. Peter continued to cry as his fingers were disinfected and bandaged (his little boy was lying to him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>again,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was sure of it. Some of the cuts were exceptionally deep. They must have hurt, there was no way his baby didn’t notice it) until he had a bandaid on almost every finger. Tony finished the treatment by laying kisses on every bandaged wound, and then one to the boy’s forehead, and finally, his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now then,” he murmured softly as he leaned back, smiling lovingly. “Let’s get some dinner in you, and then find something fun and safe for you to do while Daddy cleans up the living room.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Tony stepped through the elevator doors into the penthouse, Peter was perched on the arm of the nearest couch, waiting for him. He smiled as the boy came over, trying to soothe the shy expression on Peter’s adorable little face. “Hi, baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Peter said, almost a mumble. Tony opened his arms, and after a moment’s deliberation, Peter stepped forward and let himself be hugged. “How was your day?” Tony asked, burying his face in the shorter boy’s hair and breathing in that wondrous scent. “Were you bored while Daddy was at work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter wriggled - always so restless, if Tony tried to hold him for too long - and stepped out of his embrace. “I made a lot today,” he said quietly, then glanced up to look Tony in the eyes, hopeful. “Can I - can we bake them now? Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fond smile crossed his face, like it always did whenever his boy asked him for something. “Wouldn’t you rather have dinner first, sweetheart? FRIDAY told me you only ate the minimum again today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shrank in on himself, his shoulders hunching. He knew Tony didn’t like it when he ate sparingly. FRIDAY was programmed to give him set reminders on how often he should eat and how much, but usually, Peter only ate the bare amount of what Tony had set. It was probably a lingering, futile act of rebellion, something small that the boy was desperate to keep control of, but Tony also suspected that Peter hated the “safe” foods he was instructed to eat while Tony was away, when most of the kitchen appliances were off-limits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders and guided him to the kitchen. The counters were absolutely covered - all of Peter’s colorful creations sat neatly on their cooking trays, ready for the oven. Tony chuckled at the sight, loved how Peter’s cheeks heated up until they were burning scarlet. “You really </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> make a lot today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fun,” Peter gently said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad.” He kissed the boy’s head and started moving the trays to one side of the kitchen, making room to prepare dinner. He was gentle with his baby’s works of art as he cleared enough counter space, admiring the vibrant, neon and pastel shades of each sculpture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was Peter’s latest hobby: clay. Tony had purchased bags and bags and </span>
  <em>
    <span>bags</span>
  </em>
  <span> of colored clay for him in almost every shade he could think of, and watched as Peter steadily taught himself how to mold it into a number of useful things. At first, he simply did sculptures - easy stuff, cats and dogs and bunnies, little heads, fruits, flowers. But then he figured out how to meld the different colors together, how to make marble patterns with the clay, and before Tony knew it, he was making cups, bowls, and eventually, flower pots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had inspired the boy’s newest </span>
  <em>
    <span>sub-</span>
  </em>
  <span>hobby: gardening. He’d asked Tony for things he could grow in the colorful little pots he’d made, and Tony was more than happy to oblige. The next thing he knew, his penthouse was filled with pastel pots and blooming flowers, every table, shelf and surface adorned with Peter’s hard work and creativity, including (to Tony’s absolute delight) the boy’s bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter hadn’t shown a hint of interest in decorating his room before. Now, he had an entire garden spilling across his desk, growing along the floor-to-ceiling window beside his bed. His room was bright and humid like a greenhouse, and Peter looked more at home there than he ever had, like a woodland creature in an enchanted forest. His adorable animal sculptures and clay figurines lined his once-bare shelves in a colorful crowd, decorating the room in a way that was wonderfully, unmistakably </span>
  <em>
    <span>Peter.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a hobby Tony was more than happy to encourage. It gave Peter an outlet, let him be creative and tend to something, let him grow roots, pun intended, in a home that Tony knew still felt new to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And most importantly, it was safe. Peter obediently moisturized his hands after handling the clay, obediently scrubbed himself clean after handling his plants, obediently waited for Tony to come home to bake his new creations - though that last one was somewhat moot, since FRIDAY would never give him oven access to begin with - but still, Peter obediently didn’t try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he got to keep his pots and his sculptures and his overgrown flower garden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, despite what Peter might think, Tony never wanted him to feel like a prisoner here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was halfway home from work, stuck in the constant rush of Manhattan traffic when FRIDAY chirped to life in his earpiece. “Boss, there has been a minor accident at the penthouse,” she said. “A potted plant slipped out of Peter’s hands while he was attempting to water it. The pot shattered on impact with the floor. Peter obeyed my instructions to move far away from the accident and has left the room; he is currently waiting by the elevator and is showing signs of distress. He claimed to be unharmed and complied with my request to scan him. My initial scan confirms that he appears uninjured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy,” Tony said from the backseat, not letting the worry he was feeling bleed into his tone. “Step on it. Anything you have to do, do it. Get me home </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The man nodded, and Tony raised the partition to grant himself total privacy, then said to FRIDAY, “Walk me through the signs of distress, baby girl. Is it a panic attack? Does he need medical attention?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not quite, Boss. I’m reading increased heartrate and labored breathing, along with stiff, curled-up posture that suggests a high level of anxiety. Peter also seems to be murmuring something under his breath at a volume too low for my scanners to decipher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make note of that,” Tony said, before pulling up the penthouse’s security footage on his phone. As FRIDAY said, Peter was pressed against the wall beside the elevator, curled up on the floor with his arms hugging his knees to his chest, his head down, hiding his face. Tony’s heart shattered in his chest, and he clicked the button to tap into FRIDAY’s speakers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby boy,” he said gently, hating the way Peter flinched on his screen. “Daddy’s coming home, I’m almost there. I need you to take some slow, deep breaths for me, okay? I’m going to count to five. I want you to start inhaling at one, then stop at five. Then I’m going to count to five again, and I want you to just sit there and hold your breath the whole time. Then I’m going to count to five one more time, and this time, I want you to start exhaling at one and stop at five. Okay? Start inhaling: one, two…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter didn’t lift his head, but Tony watched him carefully, pleased when the boy’s back rose and fell in time with Tony’s instructions. Peter didn’t say anything, despite how gently Tony goaded him, so he was forced to watch helplessly as Happy drove them back to the tower, where he practically ran inside to reach the penthouse as quickly as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter was a shaking ball of nerves and tears when the doors slid open. He unfurled as Tony stepped forward, and before the man could get so much as a word out, Peter latched onto his chest like a baby koala and clung to his shirt with pale, white-knuckled fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he was saying instantly, too quiet at first, then steadily getting louder until Tony was finally able to make it out. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony held him tightly to his chest and kissed his hair, then guided him over to the couches. Peter fought him weakly as he pulled him back and sat him down, trying to stay welded to his chest, but Tony needed to see that he was all right with his own eyes, so he kept the boy at arm’s length as he gently inspected him, searching for any signs of injury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he was satisfied that Peter truly was unharmed, he breathed a sigh of relief and kissed the boy’s forehead. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, running his hands through that soft head of curls. “It’s all right, Peter, everything’s okay now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tears hadn’t stopped running liberally down the boy’s cheeks. He sniffled and weakly asked, “You’re - not mad?” while hugging himself around his middle, such a desperate need for comfort. “You’re not going to take it away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony smiled and gently wiped the tears from Peter’s red cheeks, overcome with the sudden urge to kiss him. “No, baby, I’m not going to take it away.” He leaned in and kissed him sweetly, tasting the salt of Peter’s tears on his lips. “It was an accident, right? You have accidents sometimes. You’re my silly, clumsy boy, and sometimes you can’t help it. That’s why you need Daddy to take care of you, Peter. You’re such a careless, helpless boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two fat streams of tears ran right over Tony’s thumbs where he had them pressed against the boy’s cheeks, cupping his face. Peter got that misty, faraway look in his eyes that he sometimes had, though it’d become a rarity these last few months. He didn’t say anything, not even to argue, like he usually did - just gave a stiff nod and let Tony fuss over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides,” Tony added gently, “How could I take something so important away? You’ve finally started to feel comfortable in our home, Peter. You’ve practically decorated the whole place by yourself. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ve finally started to make the place your own.” He watched Peter’s eyes widen; watched that lifeless, misty-eyed look be swallowed up by a fresh wave of horror. “As long as you promise to try and keep accidents like this to a minimum, I won’t take it away unless I absolutely have to. I know sometimes you can’t help it, baby. My fragile little boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter looked at him, then, and it was still there - just a flash, a fleeting spark - of that once-familiar anger, that indignant, prideful glare Tony had grown accustomed to back when he first took Peter in. Hurt and despair mixed with the anger in the boy’s expression, and Tony finished wiping the tears from his cheeks and kissed him again, just a soft peck, before standing to head for the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to clean up that mess now,” he said gently, still lightly stroking Peter’s cheek. “Be a good boy for Daddy and stay out of trouble while he’s gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned and made his way out of the room. Once he was down the hallway, out of sight, he paused, half-expecting to hear a sob, or more likely, the sound of a crash, of Peter tearing the plants from his homemade pots and throwing their empty shells on the floor, one final, vengeful act of defiance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no sound came, not so much as a creak to indicate Peter had even moved, and Tony continued down the hall into the boy’s bedroom, victorious.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sometimes, when Tony would decide to stay late down in the lab, and FRIDAY had confirmed that Peter was already asleep, Tony would watch Peter’s old videos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>He had a folder saved of his favorites. It had taken him weeks to collect them all - teens these days really did seem to live online, and if you wanted to see </span><em>everything,</em> sometimes that entailed following their friends, too. Peter’s social media accounts were one thing, but the accounts of all his friends were something else entirely. It was worth it, though, just to spy a glimpse of Peter through someone else’s camera, sometimes even better that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Peter was always so much more...natural, when he wasn’t the one recording. Tony’s favorite video was taken and uploaded by a blonde girl whose name Tony couldn’t be bothered to memorize. It was of a group of them - he’d deduced long ago that this was Peter’s school Decathlon team - at a hotel, messing around in the pool.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>The video was messy and poorly done and too loud, but Tony loved it. He loved watching Peter swim around, even if his chest seized up whenever a larger classmate came too close, wrestling Peter down into the water, the only salvation being the sweet echo of the boy’s laughter on the concrete. Peter was beautiful, bare except for his swim trunks, his wet curls pulled straight and flat by the weight of the water.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>
      <span>“Come on Parker, see if you can jump in!”</span>
    </em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> a boy shouted off-screen, and then all the kids were joining in, egging Peter to get out of the pool and try to cannonball onto an inflatable donut that two other boys were holding still in the water. Peter hesitated - his boy, so shy, so sweet - but ultimately caved under the peer pressure and climbed out of the pool, lining himself up for the jump.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>And then he did it. Not just the jump - no, he took a bit of a running start (</span><em>bad dangerous unsafe, God baby boy what are you </em>thinking?) and then launched himself, somersaulting in the air, a perfect flip, and landed in the middle of the donut on his back, reclining in it, beaming as the other kids cheered. The blonde girl recording whooped with delight, and another girl shouted, <em>“Peter! You are a legend!”</em> Peter’s shy face burned red in the blue water, but he was smiling, too, swelled with the attention the way young men do, a cock preening under the gaze of his hens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>That video was Tony’s favorite, but there were others: Peter arm-wrestling with a boy at school, a candid video of him tinkering in the chemistry lab, or lingering in the background of a classmate’s vlog, head tipped against the shoulder of a pretty, thinly-framed black girl who always seemed to hang around him. Tony loved these videos, cherished the carefree, quiet way Peter carried himself in them, before Tony took him in, and his demeanor regretfully had to change.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>It was a comfort, on bad days, to recline in his lab and watch videos of </span><em>the old Peter,</em> laughing and playing with his friends, just being a kid, really. On bad days, when Peter would burn so brightly with his anger and hatred that Tony’s heart broke just to look at him, or Peter seemed so trapped in his pit of despair that nothing Tony said or did could reach him, he liked to watch these old videos, to remember. To remember why he was doing this, why protecting Peter was the most important thing, even if he never had the boy’s love for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>It made it easier not to give in to his frustrations, or his temptations. Peter was still learning. Even now, almost two years later. It would take time, maybe more time than Tony felt he could bear, but he had to be patient. He had no other option. He had to remember what Peter was like, </span><em>before,</em> who <em>the old Peter</em> was, to realize how far they’d come in the last twenty-one months. Peter didn’t shake like a leaf at the sight of him, anymore. He would let himself be kissed. On rare occasions, when he needed it, he would even hug Tony back. Things were moving slowly, but they were still moving <em>forward.</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>
      <span>The old Peter</span>
    </em>
  </span>
  <span><span> was rosy-cheeked and carefree and once clawed Tony’s arm to bloody ribbons. </span><em>Flight</em> hadn’t been an option, and <em>freeze</em> hadn’t gotten him anywhere, so <em>fight</em> was the only thing Peter could do, in the beginning. Peter didn’t even know how fragile he was, how small. (<em>I’m not your little boy!</em>) Oh, but he was, and now he was starting to believe it. He just needed Tony to show him. Needed someone to stop him from running on slippery wet concrete and somersaulting into too-shallow pools; to shoo the bigger, careless kids away when they played too rough. Peter didn’t know, at first, how utterly helpless he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>But after almost two years, he was starting to.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>—</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Peter was still Gone, the next morning, when Tony came back from the lab. He got like that, sometimes, and it would last for a few horrible, stressful days, before he’d slowly come back. Tony preferred the wild, unpredictable bouts of anger Peter occasionally had to this - this near-empty shell he’d revert to, unresponsive on his bed, eyes closed most of the time, staring blankly at the wall for the rest. Dead to the world. Gone. Tony had considered, when it got really bad, getting angry, seeing if that got any reaction.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>But he knew his boy was hurting, and he could never stay mad at him even on his best days. So it was almost impossible to summon the heat to get angry when Peter was so small, curled up on his side and lost in a dissociative state so deep that it was like he couldn’t even hear Tony’s voice. Tony could touch his fill, on those days, but the desire wasn’t there: if he wanted a doll, he’d buy one. He wanted </span><em>Peter,</em> and he had him, all the time, except for when he was Gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“Sweetheart,” Tony said from the doorway, holding his breath to see whether or not the boy would stir. Peter was a motionless ball on his bed, his back to Tony, no sign of being alive at all except for the painfully slow rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathed. Up, down. Up, down. Rhythmic, like the world’s slowest metronome. “Peter. I think you should get up and eat something.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>No reply came, just the cold, comatose silence that had been plaguing their penthouse for the last thirty-six hours. Tony’s heartache and frustration coursed like liquid nitrogen in his veins, demanding to be felt, a chill so painful it felt like he was burning from the inside out. “Baby boy,” he said, trying to sound stern, in spite of the deep ache in his heart. “Daddy doesn’t want to tell you again.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>He didn’t have much hope in it. Peter wasn’t being a sulky teen - it was like he’d shut himself off, mentally. These episodes just got longer and longer each time he had one, and Tony feared, if he didn’t find a way to snap him out of them, one day Peter would slip into this state and Tony would never get him back.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Heart hammering in his chest, Tony stalked forward and knelt on the bed, scooping Peter’s seemingly-unconscious body into his arms and carrying him out of the room.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>He started with a bath. Peter’s eyes were open, and he stayed sitting upright when Tony sat him down on the closed toilet lid and began removing his clothes, but other than that, he might as well have been a corpse for how lifeless he was. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Tony considered taking his own clothes off and joining him, half to see if the physical contact would wake him up and half because he wanted to touch Peter as much as he could, even now, after all this time - but he didn’t. He didn’t want the first bath they ever had together to be when Peter was in this state, and besides - in a few weeks, Peter would turn eighteen, and Tony had plans for that night. It was going to be a night full of all kinds of firsts, and Tony had no intention of spoiling it by giving in to the temptation he’d been fighting so hard to resist.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Peter’s head tipped back when Tony lifted him, like he wasn’t able to hold it up by himself. Tony ended up cradling him like an infant as he lowered him into the warm bath, one hand clamped firmly on the back of his neck, keeping his head above water as the other hand set to work gently lathering the boy’s skin with soap. Peter flushed bright pink - which was a good sign - but he still had that vacant look in his eyes like his soul had left his body.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Tony knew how important mental stimulation was, how hard confinement could be for a brilliant, developing mind like Peter’s. Kids needed variety as much as they needed routine, and that was especially true with Peter, who grew bored much faster than other kids his age. They were just alike, in that way. The brain needed fuel to keep itself turned on, just like any other engine. Peter filled his days with entertainment and hobbies, but the real fuel - the kind geniuses like them ran on - that kind had been too dangerous, too big of a risk to let Peter dabble in when Tony first brought him here.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>But the boy’s birthday was coming up soon, and Tony couldn’t see the harm in adding one more surprise to the list.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>—</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>After his bath, Tony dressed Peter in a loose-fitting sweater he pulled from his own closet and a clean pair of boxers. Peter was checked-out and pliant through the whole process, even afterwards, when Tony curled up with him on the couch, maneuvering his body into his lap like a doll. He tucked Peter’s head under his chin and reached into the bowl of sliced fruit beside them, petting the boy’s head lovingly as he held a slice of peach up to his lips.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“Open up, sweetheart,” he gently coaxed, kissing Peter’s hair. “You need to eat, even if it’s just a little. C’mon, be a good boy for Daddy.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>He wedged the peach between the boy’s lips, and then Peter’s mouth slowly opened up, letting Tony slide the piece of fruit inside. He lingered - let his fingers stay warm and wet in Peter’s sweet little mouth - utterly pleased when his jaw began working slowly up and down, and then his throat bobbed, swallowing the morsel of food obediently. They repeated the process until the bowl was halfway empty. Then Peter violently lurched forward in his lap, hand clutched over his mouth like he was about to puke.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“Whoa, easy, baby, easy - ” Tony said, overtop of the loud, tearful whine that ripped its way from Peter’s chest. “You’re alright, hang on -”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>He carried him to the guest bathroom, and Peter lunged for the toilet and emptied the meager contents of his stomach into it, sobbing and shaking like he was ravaged with disease. Tony knelt behind him, rubbing his back and soothing him gently, heartbroken by the scared, distressed sounds his boy was making, but relieved that he was at least making any sound at all. “Shh, sweetheart. You’re okay.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“No more,” Peter begged. He pillowed his head on his arm, braced against the toilet seat. Tony quickly pulled him away from it, though no one had used that toilet since before Peter came to live with him.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Peter pushed against his chest, trying to wriggle out of his hold. Tony let him stay at arm’s length, but cupped the boy’s flushed face, running his fingers over Peter’s warm skin, brushing his still-damp curls out of his eyes. “Stop,” Peter said, half-delirious, like his dissociative state was struggling to keep its hold on him. “Let go - don’t touch me - ”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“Peter, it’s Daddy,” Tony said calmly, holding the boy’s face still, his grip firm but not unkind. “It’s just Daddy. I’m not going to hurt you.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>“Bull</span><em>shit!”</em> Peter yelled, and he wrenched himself out of Tony’s grasp, kicking him square in the chest as hard as he could, sending them both backward onto the hard tile floor in opposite directions. “You’re a <em>liar,</em> keep - stay <em>back!”</em> He pressed himself into the corner, because Tony was standing between him and the door. “Stay back, don’t touch me, <em>don’t touch me!”</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Tony lifted his hands where Peter could see them, but moved forward slowly, braced in case the boy tried to make a run for it. It wasn’t the first time he had to corral Peter in a moment of distress, and while it had been a while since the last time he’d had to, he doubted it would be the last. Peter knew it, too. He drew up his knees tight against his chest and dug his blunt nails into the bare skin of his legs, hard enough to pierce them. “</span>
    <em>Peter!”</em>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>He snatched the boy’s wrists and pulled them away from his shins before he could break his own skin. Peter fought him, yanking himself out of Tony’s grip unsuccessfully, trying to throw himself out of Tony’s grasp like his life depended on it. “Don’t touch me! I said don’t touch me!”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“I know you’re upset,” Tony said, his tone belying the composure he was trying to maintain, “But you know the rules, Peter. If you try to hurt yourself, you go in a time-out.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Peter’s attitude changed in a heartbeat. Tony dragged him in the direction of the time-out room, knowing that Peter could instantly tell where they were going; there was nothing else in that corner of the penthouse, it had been remodeled for this singular purpose, like the belt Tony’s dad kept in the hallway storage closet when he was growing up. Same idea, different methods of punishment.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Peter stopped trying to pull himself away and instead clung to Tony’s back, digging his hands in like he would die if they were separated. “No, no please - ” he babbled, his sweet, scared voice breaking Tony’s heart. “I’m sorry, I’m so-sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good.” He was crying so hard, the words fell apart as he said them. “Please don’t be mad. Don’t be mad at me, please, please please.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Tony stopped, but only because they had reached the time-out room. “FRIDAY, open the door.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>“I’m </span><em>sorry!”</em> Peter sobbed, clinging to Tony’s arm. “I’m sorry, don’t be mad at me, <em>please.</em>” Tony was scared the boy would pass out if he cried any harder. But instead he wrapped himself around Tony’s body and begged, “Please don’t be mad at me, please Daddy, please don’t be mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Tony went still.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>Almost two years. Peter had been with him for almost two years, living with him, never out of reach. Tony had gotten to see him and touch him and hear his soft, shy little voice every single day for almost </span><em>two years,</em> but that -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>That was the first time Peter had called him </span>
    <em>Daddy.</em>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Tony turned and stared. Peter’s cheeks were drenched in tears, red and puffy and looking sore to the touch. He gently pried the boy’s hands off him, watching raptly as Peter devolved into a fit of sobs, and then he cupped the back of his head and kissed his forehead, his wet eyes, his damp, flushed cheeks.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>He was so hard, the tight grip of his jeans on his erection was making him light-headed.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“You’re my good boy,” he said against Peter’s tear-soaked skin. “My baby. My darling baby boy. Aren’t you?”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Trying to swallow his sobs, Peter sniffled, gave a jerky nod against Tony’s lips.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>But he wanted to hear him say it, hungry for it now that Peter had given him a taste. “</span><em>Aren’t you?</em>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“I’m - I’m your good boy,” Peter mumbled, clenching his eyes shut. His voice was wrecked from his sobs. His lower lip trembled as he spoke, Tony couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry f-for what I did.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>Tony’s gaze softened, but he was feeling greedy, now. He knew Peter would do anything to avoid a time-out. He’d had to put him in the mask, last time, so he wouldn’t bite himself bloody and infected. (</span><em>So you don’t hurt yourself again, sweetheart. If you’re good, I’ll take it off when your time-out’s over.) </em>But that hadn’t been until three weeks later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“You’re sorry...what?” Tony prodded, gently. Peter briefly met his gaze, then looked away, and Tony smiled. “Who are you apologizing to, baby?”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“You,” Peter near-whispered, then, knowing it wouldn’t be good enough, said: “I’m sorry, Daddy.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Tony shuddered. He knew he was pushing his luck, now. Peter had been practically catatonic less than an hour ago.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>But it had been two years, and the patience he’d been so proud of was beginning to wear thin.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span>“Hmm. If you’re </span><em>really</em> sorry, do you want to make it up to me?” Peter’s eyes widened with dread. Tony’s dick swelled up fat in his jeans. “Do you want to show Daddy how sorry you are and make it up to him like the good boy I know you can be, baby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Peter stared, a deer in the headlights. Then he glanced at the open door of the time-out room, and he started nodding, almost on autopilot. “Yes. Please.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>“Alright then, sweetheart.” Tony took him by the back of his neck and guided him over to the living room, until they were standing on the clean, plush carpet by the sofa. He sat down and reclined, let his legs fall open with Peter standing between them. “Get on your knees.”</span>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter’s face crumpled with worry. Tony could see the hesitation in the way he moved, how he tightened his shoulders. But one cursory glance at the doorway to the time-out room sitting behind them, open, waiting, was more than enough to make him gulp down whatever reservations he had and sink to his knees.</p><p>“Careful,” Tony admonished when Peter hit the floor too hard and too fast. “Be gentle with yourself, baby. Last thing you need is a fractured patella.”</p><p>Redness seeped into the terror-stricken paleness of Peter’s cheeks. “Sorry,” he mumbled, then quickly added, correcting himself, “--Daddy.”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Smiling, Tony gently stroked Peter’s curls out of his face and coaxed him deeper between his legs, until he was eye-level with the tent in his jeans. “You’re being so good, sweetheart. I know how badly you don’t want Daddy to be angry.”</p><p>A shiver shocked down Peter’s spine. He nodded, his eyes still wet and glassy as he stared straight ahead, that shell-shocked, soldier look.</p><p>Tony cupped his cheek and tested the plumpness of his bottom lip with his thumb. “Do you know what I want you to do now?”</p><p>Peter knew, Tony could tell, but it still took him a moment to answer, like he was playing an internal game of chess and couldn’t decide which move was safest. Finally, he gave one quick, jerky nod, but then said, “Can I - uhm, can I please brush my teeth first?” He braved meeting Tony’s eyes, looking touchingly determined despite his fear. “Please, Daddy?”</p><p>Tony couldn’t help but smile. His boy was so cute. Peter hadn’t thrown up much, earlier - his stomach was practically empty at the time - but the acidic feeling in his mouth was probably making his poor baby uncomfortable, and what kind of caretaker would Tony be if he made him endure that? Plus, it was bad for his teeth.</p><p>“Okay baby,” he said, tenderly stroking Peter’s cheek. “Let’s go clean those pearly-whites.”</p><p>Peter obviously didn’t expect Tony to lift him from the floor and guide him to the master bedroom’s ensuite bathroom, because his face filled with disappointment, like he’d just had some desperate plan thwarted. He was probably just seeking a little alone time, before he had to show Tony how sorry he was, but Tony wasn’t inclined to give him that. Not only did Peter deserve to be shadowed after the little stunt he pulled in the bathroom, but after being <em>Gone</em> for days on end, Tony was reluctant to take his eyes off the <em>awake, responsive</em> version of Peter for even a moment.</p><p>He made sure the boy was steady on his feet while Peter slowly unwrapped a new toothbrush from the package Tony kept in his vanity. Peter’s shoulder was tense underneath his hand, his back even more so as Tony gently stroked along the valley of his spine. His hand was shaking as he prepped the brush with toothpaste and brought it to his lips, avoiding Tony’s gaze in the mirror as he pushed the bristles inside.</p><p>He let Peter take a little longer than he really needed. It wasn’t like the boy could do any harm in being thorough, and besides, it wouldn’t change what Tony had already decided was going to happen.</p><p>In fact, it only made it that much sweeter - the moment Peter was finished rinsing his spit down the drain, Tony was spinning him around and pressing him against the vanity’s ledge, hands cupping his jaw as he tipped his face back to kiss him. Peter whimpered - such an adorable, innocent sound - and tightly gripped Tony’s forearms, but didn’t dare pull them away.</p><p>“Kiss me,” Tony groaned into his mouth, eyes half-lidded and fixed on Peter’s screwed-shut eyes, his red cheeks. There was a moment of hesitation, Tony watching as Peter’s bottom lip trembled sweetly, before he shyly opened his mouth and let the man’s tongue delve inside, wrapping insistently against his own.</p><p>Peter had never kissed him back, not really. Occasionally he would hold very still long enough for Tony to meld their lips together, maybe swipe his tongue along the seam of Peter’s mouth, but if things started going too far Peter would always pull away, flushed and shivering.</p><p>Normally, Tony let him. He would steal moments of physical affection whenever Peter would permit them, but push no further. But something was different, this time. Maybe it was because Peter had finally called him Daddy. Maybe it was because he knew the boy wouldn’t dare push him away with the time-out room looming over him. Or maybe, maybe it was just because he’d been missing Peter for days, and there was a moment - a real, terrible, genuine moment - when Tony believed he wasn’t ever going to get him back.</p><p>So he held Peter firmly by the back of his head and kissed into his mouth like it was wartimes and he was about to board the train.  Peter struggled to keep up with the kiss, but obediently let himself be devoured. Tony couldn’t keep quiet with the pleasure of it. His dick was aching in his pants. He wanted Peter’s mouth on him, wanted to feel his slim little hands fondling his balls. He wanted to cum all over that pretty little face and then make Peter lick his hands clean when he tried to wipe it away.</p><p>God, he was about to shoot off in his pants like he was still Peter’s age.</p><p>“Come on, sweetheart,” he mumbled against Peter’s lips, scarcely pulling away far enough to speak. “Let’s take this to the bedroom, hmm?”</p><p>Peter’s eyes were wet, but he didn’t protest or struggle as Tony led him out of the bathroom. He tried to blink away the tears in his eyes as he stared down at the floor, silent as Tony sat at the foot of the bed and placed a pillow on the floor between his feet. “Here, baby. Come kneel down. Slowly.”</p><p>Peter was gentler, this time, as he kneeled down on the pillow between Tony’s legs. He reluctantly made eye contact when Tony cupped his chin and tilted his face up, but seemed almost expressionless as Tony smiled warmly down at him.</p><p>“I know you haven’t done this before,” he soothed, “but don’t worry, honey. We’ll go slow. Daddy will tell you what to do, okay? And if you do a good job, Daddy will know you really didn’t mean to be naughty, and we can put this whole thing behind us. Sound good?”</p><p>Tears dripped from Peter’s eyes and ran down his cheeks, but he nodded, almost seeming grateful to get this over with. Tony stroked one hand through the boy’s hair and undid his jeans with the other, pulling his hard dick free and letting Peter take a good look for the first time. They’d been naked together before, especially in the beginning, when Peter needed constant supervision even when bathing and Tony couldn’t bear to leave him alone after months and months and <em>months</em> of waiting, but the kid had never seen him up close like this, proud and dripping all for him.</p><p>“Like that?” Tony asked, wrapping a hand around the base and giving himself a few pacifying strokes. “That’s all for you, sweetheart. That’s what you did to Daddy. Don’t you want to make him feel better?”</p><p>He angled the tip until it brushed Peter’s lip, which wobbled from the sensation or the nervousness or both. Peter was staring at his dick like it was a loaded gun, like he didn’t have his own hanging between his legs. He blinked the tears furiously out of his eyes and parted his mouth with a pinched expression, like a kid forcing himself to take his medicine.</p><p>Tony couldn’t help teasing him, just a little. He smacked the head gently against the top of Peter’s tongue, toying with the idea of slipping inside, but never actually getting that far. Peter almost glared at him - it didn’t really work, on his knees with his mouth hanging open and the tip of Tony’s dick playfully fucking his mouth - but it was endearing nonetheless. His hands were tight fists against his bare thighs, Tony’s baggy sweater slipping off one shoulder, making him look positively sinful, almost <em>Lolita-</em>esque.</p><p>Tony’s patience did run out eventually, though, and he guided Peter forwards by the back of his head as he sunk his cock into that warm, waiting mouth. Peter tensed tighter and tighter the further inside Tony pushed, but he took it slow, delighting in the small, panicky puffs of air the boy was making through his nose. He could remember being that young, when even the thought of sex was so scary and new, even if you were deeply curious about it and your body was craving some form of it 24/7. Peter would probably be insatiable, after his birthday, when Tony would be pleasuring him nonstop every single day. It would certainly be a lot more fun than making clay pots and growing the same three plants inside them over and over again.</p><p>Peter whined when he was a quarter of the way inside, and struggled when a quarter quickly became half. Tony paused, hands tight but gentle on the boy’s head, letting him regain control of his breathing before he began pushing in again. The little pleading whimpers Peter was making were heartbreaking and adorable, and he blinked up at Tony with wet, grateful eyes when the man stopped feeding his cock inside his mouth and removed his hands.</p><p>“Now you just stay right there, baby,” Tony gently said, smiling down at his boy. “All I want you to do is suck, and swallow when Daddy gives you his cum. Can you do that for me?”</p><p>Peter squeezed his eyes shut to stem the flood of tears that started welling up. He didn’t nod, but Tony knew he would obey, and took himself around the shaft again, staring avidly as he began pumping himself inside Peter’s mouth. He was so close, already, from Peter’s bath and everything that had happened since - he’d never last through a full blowjob like this.</p><p>“Come on, honey, suck on it - there, good boy. What a good boy you are, baby. Sucking Daddy’s dick so good. A little harder - ha<em>ah,</em> fuck.” He pumped his hand harder, arching his back but keeping his eyes fixed on that devastated, perfect face. “Knew you’d be a natural. Knew it the first time I ever saw you. Heard you calling out to your best friend and thought, <em>Jesus, look at that kid. Mouth just made for sucking cock.</em>”</p><p>Peter sobbed, his face soaked in tears and spit. Tony’s hand tightened slightly too tight in his hair as he fisted himself, desperate to give this kid his cum after two fucking years of craving him. Wet sounds filled the room as he thrust his hips forward, rocking Peter’s face against him with the hand in his hair, harshly fucking his mouth as the pressure built up more and more. Tony hissed as that familiar ledge came barreling towards him, groaning loud and animalistic as Peter’s mouth took him over it.</p><p>“Swallow it, you’d better get every drop - ” he said, a lust-stricken, snarled command in a tone he never, ever used with his baby when he could help it, “ - Yeah, <em>fuck,</em> good boy, Peter, good baby. Drink it up, that’s all for you. That’s yours, sweetheart.”</p><p>The sight of the boy’s throat bobbing as he swallowed made another rope of cum shoot from Tony’s dick, and he moaned, loud and guttural as Peter swallowed that down, too. Tony folded himself forward, hunching over Peter’s head in his lap, keeping that perfect, warm mouth wrapped around his dick for as long as possible.</p><p>Christ, he never should have kept this from himself for so long. Even the sensation of his dick softening in Peter’s mouth was overwhelmingly incredible.</p><p>He thumbed over Peter’s cheekbones, rubbing away the trails of his tears he held him still on his cock. Peter was silent, save for the shallow, distressed breaths he was making through his nose, matching the rapid rise and fall of his chest.</p><p>Tony moaned as he slowly pulled his cock free, loving the drag of Peter’s plush lips along his shaft. The boy sat back on the floor when Tony released him, flat on his butt, his legs bent into v’s beside him in a way that could only be comfortable for a dancer or gymnast like Peter. Tony loved how flexible Peter was. That fact had kept him up at night on more than one occasion.</p><p>When he’d caught his breath, Tony tapped Peter’s cheek and said, “Open up, show Daddy what a good boy you were. Lift your tongue so I can see.” The boy did, and Tony smiled at the sight of his perfectly pink, cum-free mouth. “There’s my baby. Now, why don’t you go brush your teeth again - don’t use the same brush, it’s dirty, just throw it out and open a new one - and then Daddy will make us some lunch.”</p><p>Peter nodded, and pushed himself up onto shaking legs. He shied away when Tony reached out to steady him, and crossed the floor to the ensuite bathroom, head down and shoulders hunched.</p><p>Tony couldn’t resist calling out, “Unless you’re full now?” and gave the kid a pass when he slammed the door shut in response.</p>
  </div></div>
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